


Honeytrap

by Crazy_Dumpling



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Food Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-12
Updated: 2011-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-19 07:41:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/198513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Dumpling/pseuds/Crazy_Dumpling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Thor is annoyed, and Loki is infuriating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honeytrap

**Author's Note:**

> My final fic for [](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**kink_bingo**](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) , and the prompt was **'food'** , which in this case is mead. Set pre-movie.

He’ll blame it on the mead if he does something stupid tonight, Thor decides, as he gulps down another mouthful of the heady liquid (is it his tenth? Or twelfth? He isn’t sure and right now, he doesn’t care) , hardly feeling the burn it leaves on the back of his throat. Odin throws his son a glare as Thor thumps the goblet down on the banqueting table with more force than necessary and Frigga clicks her tongue before placing a calming hand on Odin’s shoulder, whispers something in his ear that makes him laugh and turn away from Thor.

Thor scowls and turns his gaze back on the source of his agitation. Loki is seated a distance away from his older brother and seemingly oblivious to Thor’s mounting anger. Instead, he is allowing a serving boy to feed him grapes from a bowl. They are big, very red grapes that Loki bites in half first, allowing the juice to seep all over the servant’s fingers before sucking up the remainder and cleaning off the juice by sticking the boy’s fingers in his mouth. They’ve been doing this for a while, and the boy’s fingers are stained red and the way Loki curls his tongue around each digit borders on the obscene, more suited to the boudoirs of courtesans than the halls their forefathers built to honour the brave deeds of warriors.

Hardly anyone else seems to notice, though the hall is full of Asgardian nobles and their consorts celebrating the approach of winter, and Thor wonders if this is another of Loki’s magics. But he notices, and he has to watch as the serving lad gasps in pleasure as Loki’s tongue follows a stray drop of juice down his wrist, the front of his robes hardly concealing his obvious arousal. To Thor’s further irritation, it seems like Loki chose the boy purely because he is the tallest and fairest of the troupe of servers attending the banquet tonight. The boy’s eyes are a clear green and his hair is a dark shade of blonde and curls prettily about his head as he dips to let Loki whisper something in his ear. Something that makes him flush a delicate shade of pink. He puts the bowl down on the table and bows, then hurries off in the direction of Loki’s chambers.

“Hell-spawn.” Thor growls, and shifts in his seat, earning him a warning look from Sif, who is entertaining Fandral. And Loki seems to hear him, because he pauses a moment and shoots Thor an amused half-grin before rising from his seat.

“Father,” he bows low. “I may take my leave of you for the night, if I may. You have so much good company gathered that I hardly think you will care if I absent myself.”

“Spare me your convoluted speeches,” Odin replies good-humourdly. “Off with you, boy, and don’t tire out the servants.”

Thor’s scowl deepens as Loki smirks, and strides away, robes billowing out behind him like a storm cloud.

After another ten minutes, when Volstagg decides that starting a food fight would be a grand way to finish the night, and when Fandral decides to pile his not-insignificant charms on Sif, Thor decides he can’t take it any more. With an effort he tries to remain as calm as he can as he bids his father goodnight.

Odin glances at him skeptically, his good eye pinning Thor on the spot. “Are you off to punish your brother for lying with the servant boy?”

“What - ? No, Father, never.” Thor has never been a good liar and he stutters through his lines while Sif shares a look with Fandral and shakes her head.

“It is better for him to bed servants, Thor, than to make mischief either here, or in any other realm.”

“I know that, Father, but —”

“Leave, if you must.” Odin says, “But if you beat him, do not expect that he will repent of his actions.”

With another swig of the mead, Thor leaves, Volstagg’s crude remark about Loki’s bed partners ringing in his ears.

***

 

There is a secret passageway that connects Thor’s rooms to Loki’s, an addition that Loki had conjured up when they were younger, in order to annoy his brother and provide a more private means of congress between their chambers. Thor follows it now, his blood thrumming with the effects of all the mead he’s drunk over the evening (he thinks he might have had about twenty goblets of the stuff, if he’s honest). The passageway changes each time, thanks to Loki’s spells, and this time it leads him to a set of double doors that stand slightly ajar, and when Thor puts his eye to the gap, he realises that they open onto Loki’s bed, which stands in the middle of his room on a plinth.

And there, on the bed, dripping a slow trickle of mead from a goblet onto the serving boy’s pale, golden skin, is Loki, naked and beautiful, his green eyes alight with lust and power as the body below him twists and the boy curses in a breathless voice that is full of desperation. Loki, unsurprisingly, has bound the boy’s wrists with magic and now they lie above his head, pinned down and useless as Loki chases each line of liquid with his wicked tongue. Thor can hear every single little moan, every gasp and Loki’s infuriating chuckle as he works lower, the goblet leaving his hands and spilling its contents over the boy’s straining cock.

“Oh, my lord, please.” He manages to groan, just before Loki slowly licks away the remaining mead from his belly, the line of his hip, the soft tender flesh of his thigh. Then Loki looks up, and Thor swears under his breath and reaches down to cup himself through his robes as his brother straddles the boy’s hips, about to mount him, his pale skin barely flushed, his face a picture of icy calm, a smug smile twisting his reddened lips. A lock of black, black hair falls in his face.

“You want me?” Loki asks, though he doesn’t look at the boy as he says it. Instead he licks his fingers, which are sticky with mead, looks around, and holds them out in Thor’s direction.

Damn him.

With a loud growl, Thor bursts through the doors, scaring the servant boy so much he screams.

“Quiet yourself, boy!” Thor barks at him. Loki, on the other hand, calmly gets off the boy and snaps his fingers, releasing the lad’s wrists from his enchantments.

“Go, before my brother gets too angry to control himself and summons Mjolnir,” he says, a hint of amusement colouring his voice. Another gesture dresses the stunned boy, and a third ejects him from Loki’s chambers and bolts the door.

Only then does Loki turn to look at his brother. Thor is already pawing off his clothing, discarding garments as he advances on Loki in his impatience.

“Whore.” Thor says, though without much venom. He pushes Loki down onto the bed, marvelling as he always does at the contrast of his bronzed skin against the paleness of Loki’s. “You should be ashamed, brother, of resorting to such… wanton behaviour in public.”

He takes Loki’s wrists easily in one hand and pins them above his head, groans as Loki arches up against him, hissing like a serpent, his skin deliciously cool to the touch. They kiss hungrily and Thor can taste the mead on Loki’s tongue, and the barest hint of grape juice and the deeper taste of Loki himself. Then Loki pulls away, a wicked grin on his lips.

“Well, it certainly caught your attention, did it not?”

Whatever else he might say is cut-off in a strangled-sounding gasp as Thor sinks teeth into his neck, marking him and tasting the unnatural coolness of his brother’s skin.

Yes, Thor decides, as Loki spits curses at him and writhes underneath his hands, he will definitely blame the mead for this.


End file.
